It's Your Smile
by KolKolKol
Summary: Russia and America smut, rated M for future chapters. Centers around the re-signing of the Cold War arms reduction document that recently happened.
1. The Calming Sun

Inspiring Music:  
Belly Up -- Maria Mena  
Don't Know What To Do, Don't Know What To Say -- Ric Segreto

* * *

After a World Conference, America and Russia liked to walk around for a while, just talking and sometimes laughing. Russia was grateful to have the nation's company; most of the other nations perceived him as too scary to approach, and stayed away from him. No matter how he acted, every time someone stammered when he approached, every time someone hurriedly excused themselves when he was present, Russia was hurt. But with America, he didn't have to act so hostile. When he was around America, the Russian's insanity got a little better. Thoughts of a nice, bloody mass murder flew right out of his mind when America was near. America brought out the best in him.

"Hey Ivan?" America asked. They were walking along the streets, on the side of the road where the trees and buildings didn't block out the sun. Russia liked that; he so rarely got to see the sun, and times like this were calming.

"Yes, Alfred?" Russia responded, looking at the slightly shorter nation. Blue eyes sparkled as he asked his next question.

"Would you mind it if I came to visit sometime?" America asked curiously.

"Why would you like to do that?" Russia questioned, confused.

"Well, we've talked about your country, but I'd like to see it for myself."

"But why? It is cold, almost always snowing, and anyway, people will not take kindly to you if you are with me," Russia said. "Surely your country is much more comfortable, da?"

"Yes, it probably is, but still. I'd just like to see the place where you spend your life," America said. He shrugged and began striding off the sidewalk. Russia followed him, noting the green blades of grass brushing at their boots. When they were far enough off the road that they could no longer hear the obnoxious noises of the cars, America flopped down in the grass, hands behind his head. Russia copied, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth of the sun on his face.

"I mean," America said. "If you wouldn't feel comfortable with it, I get it. I don't have to..." he stopped. Russia could hear the hurt in his voice and hurriedly propped himself up on his side, looking at America with violet eyes.

"Nyet, nyet, America!" he said quickly. "I would love for you to visit my country. It is just that sometimes, people tend to get a little crazy. Many own guns, and sometimes they will try shooting at things for fun."

America rolled on his side so he was facing Russia. "I'll be fine," he said happily.

"How do you know?" Russia asked. He couldn't help being protective of the blond man with him. He was, after all, the one person that could make Russia happy.

"Because I've got you to protect me," America said simply.

The two lay back again, watching as the opalescent clouds idly drifted across the sea of viridian above them. Russia nearly fell asleep with the sun on his skin, the quiet sounds of the calm wind brushing the grass, and the company of his friend beside him. Russia only opened his eyes when America stood over him, tugging at his scarf, smiling and telling him to get up because it was growing late. Rising, Russia and America walked back to the World Conference building, where they departed with promises to speak to each other soon.

Russia walked back to the house he stayed in during extended World Conferences, so he wouldn't have to make the flight all the way to Russia and back overnight. He truly enjoyed the times he could stay here, with the friendly people and the warming sun. The sun was a big deal to him; it symbolized all that the Russian liked about the world. The warmth, brightness, and restorative powers. He was deprived of those back in his homeland, which might have been a contributing factor to why he had grown so manic.

America's comforting presence still lingering in his thoughts, Russia swung open the door to his house, a contented smile gracing his face.

"Oh! Good a-afternoon, Mr. Russia," Latvia stammered, scurrying up from his seat at the dining room table to pull out a chair for Russia. Instead of adopting the purple aura and sadistic smirk Latvia had been expecting, Russia smiled a true smile and motioned for Lativa to sit down.

"Good afternoon, Raivis," Russia said cheerfully, rumpling the much shorter nation's sandy blond hair fondly. "It's a beautiful day outside."

"Yes, it is," Latvia said, smiling back at the older man. He's been with America, Latvia thought happily. It had been happening more often now that Russia and America had developed their strong friendship. Russia would go around smiling and chatting with the younger Baltics, rather than swinging his pipe and threatening them with violence.

"Would you like some hot chocolate, Little Raivis?" Russia asked. Latvia raised an eyebrow; today was definitely a good day for Russia.

"Yes, please, Mr. Russia. I'd like that," he said, nodding. "I'll go make--"

"Nonsense," Russia interrupted him, getting up. "I'll make it." Latvia glanced down the hallway as Estonia and Lithuania came in. They glanced from Russia to Latvia, who was sitting unhurt and happy at the table. Latvia motioned for them to come in, grinning.

"Ah, Eduard and Toris," Russia said, smiling when he caught sight of them. "Would you like hot chocolate, too?"

When Russia was making the drinks, the three Baltics looked at each other and shared a knowing smile. They wondered if Russia would ever see how much he liked America; it was so obvious to them. Latvia especially knew, for Russia seemed to gravitate toward the young nation, trying to make up for all the times he had horribly mistreated the Latvian in the past.

"Could you please answer that, Raivis?" Russia asked as the phone rang. Latvia nodded and ran over to the phone, but for once, he was rushing so he could get to the phone in time, and not so Russia wouldn't beat him for not doing it quicker.

"Hello, Braginski residence," Latvia said, grappling for the phone on the wall.

"Hello Latvia! Can I speak to Russia, please?"

"Sure! Just a moment," Latvia said. Holding the receiver to his shoulder, he mouthed 'America' to Estonia and Lithuania. They smiled widely and looked over at Russia.

"Mr. Russia, it's for you!" Latvia called. Russia immediately looked up and saw the Baltic's smile. Latvia handed him the phone and went to stand with Estonia and Lithuania. When Russia answered the phone, his face immediately split into a wide smile.

"Hello, America!" he said delightedly. "How are you?"

The three Baltics glanced at each other, and took their hot drinks with them out of the room, leaving Russia sitting at the table, chatting with America.

"He's getting a lot better," Latvia commented as they retired to the terrace. He began absentmindedly playing with the long tree leaf hanging over his head, batting it back and forth in an almost cat-like fashion.

"It's America's doing," Estonia said, looking back into the house as they heard Russia laugh. "The man may be sort of an idiot, but it's like he's medicating Russia."

"He's practically like a high-school student," Lithuania said. "Well, maybe."

The three Baltics sat out on the terrace until sundown, listening to Russia's kind voice and joyous laughing. It didn't stop until late at night, leaving the Baltics to fall asleep with peaceful smiles touching their lips.

**________________**

**Author's Notes: Thank you so much for reading! I always thought there was someone who could act as Ivan's 'happy pills', and figured it could be the good ol' U S of A! **

**Reviews , please?  
**


	2. It's A Date

_You taught me how to love,  
You showed me how tomorrow and today  
My life is diff'rent from the yesterday;  
And you, you taught me how to love  
And darling I will always cherish you  
Today, tomorrow and forever._

When I Met You, by Apo Hiking Society

Other songs of inspiration:  
Better Days, by Dianne Reeves

* * *

The next day of the World Conference was sunny again, delighting Russia. He decided to go early, in the hopes of being able to talk to America before the meeting. Lithuania watched him leave, noting his quick stride and complacent smile.

"How long has it been?" he asked, turning back to the other Baltics. They were sitting at the table again, Latvia building a playing card house, Estonia reading a book.

"I'd say about two months," Estonia said, glancing up at Lithuania. "How long do you think it'll take?"

"Be specific, Eduard," Lithuania requested. "For what specifically?"

"For Russia to realize America's got a huge crush on him," Estonia determined, setting the book down and watching Lithuania intently over his glasses. "And how do you think he'll respond?"

"How do you know America likes Russia?" Latvia asked, arching his eyebrows questioningly. The Eastern country certainly liked Russia, but Latvia could find nothing to indicate that America liked him in that way.

"When you get as old as we are, Raivis, you'll be able to tell," Lithuania said mysteriously.

"You're only four years older than me, Toris," Latvia reminded him. "So what's the real reason?"

Lithuania laughed quietly --and slightly condescendingly in Latvia's opinion-- and went back to the card house. Estonia glared at him disdainfully before turning back to Latvia.

"Think of it this way: When is the last time you've seen Russia act like this?" he said, picking his book back up.

"Ivan!" Russia turned around at the familiar voice calling his name. He smiled when he saw America running toward him, nearly tripping in his haste.

"Good morning Alfred," Russia said. America finally stopped, breathing slightly elevated from running to catch up with the Russian, and his hair was slightly disheveled. But he was smiling, and Russia felt himself start to calm down in his presence.

"You're early today," America commented, sitting down on the stone steps to the building. It was actually too early, so it was locked, and wouldn't be opened for a while longer. How long, though, America didn't really know.

"As are you, da?" Russia asked, sitting next to the American and relaxing on the stone. It had warmed in the sun, and was actually quite comfortable. Much more than sitting on the steps of his regular house back in Russia, where it was always cold and snow was omnipresent.

"Yeah, I guess I am," America said. "But, you know, a hero is always early."

"But it is quite common that you are late," Russia said, perplexed. America was often barging into meetings as much as thirty minutes late, with excuses like he had to get a coffee or something insipid of that nature.

"Well, either early, or fashionably late," America said, simpering. Russia laughed softly, as only America seemed to be able to make him do. He wondered if America was still interested in visiting him back in Russia. It wasn't much, but parts of his homeland were quite beautiful. It would be nice to be able to show it to his close friend.

And as if reading his mind, America smiled. "Were you serious about letting me visit?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Da, I was serious. Are you sure that you would still like to go?" Russia responded, hitching his scarf more firmly around his neck. The slight wind was blowing his hair back, and almost unfurling the scarf from his shoulders.

"I'm totally sure! I can't wait to see it!" America was positively exuding happiness, beaming widely and practically bouncing up and down. Russia had to smile at his friend's cheerfulness; it was quite cute, in an odd way.

"I shall have to take you to the Red Square of Moscow," Russia said enthusiastically. "And perhaps the Tverskaya Street, as well."

The two began to plan out America's visit, chatting animatedly about where to go and what to see. Soon, Russia was smiling as widely as America, and was gesticulating with his hands to describe the impossible descriptions of the new-fallen snow on the Grand Cascade in Peterhof, and how the Volcanoes of Kamchatka looked reflected in the water. America's eyes were wide, listening intently, and smiling at Russia's descriptions. It sounded wonderful, and Russia was making America even more anxious to go.

"When can we go?" he finally asked. Russia's violaceous eyes were shining with happiness. It was only when America asked that he could remember the true beauty of his homeland. He had been so caught up in his misery and loneliness that he had forgotten what Russia was like if he looked hard enough. He remembered the kindness of the priests in their ornate churches, the purity of the snow on top of mountains and rooftops, and the laughter of children when they got out of school, amusing themselves with snowball fights and shrieking with joy when they were hit with the powdery whiteness.

"As soon as you want," Russia murmured. America noticed the change in his friend's voice immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh, nyet, America," Russia said. "You have done nothing. I was just remembering my homeland, that is all." Seeing America's still concerned look, he added, "I promise." And only then did America look satisfied again.

"Good. But I want to go soon! Like, now!" America smiled at Russia again.

"Well, I doubt that leaving before the World Conference is over would be acceptable," Russia reasoned, chuckling at America's disappointed pout. "But, we could go after the conference."

"How soon after?" America asked hopefully. Russia made it sound like a wondrous place, and he couldn't wait to see where the man had grown up.

"It depends. How soon can you pack?" Russia questioned. America was glowing with joy by that point, estimating how quickly he could throw random clothes into an old suitcase and toss it down the stairs of his apartment.

"About two minutes, not counting the time it'll take me to shut the suitcase," America said. Russia looked slightly confused at that comment. "I pack horribly, so the lid doesn't shut unless I can get someone to sit on it most of the time," he explained.

Russia laughed. "It's a plan then," he said.

America's gem-like eyes glimmered as he replied, "No. It's a date."

For some reason, Russia felt happy when America said that. "Yes, Alfred. It's a date."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Yeah, sorry, it is kinda short. I swear the next chapter will be _tons_ better! But for now, please enjoy this skimpy, pathetic little thing that dares to call itself a 'chapter'. 

**Reviews, please? And a nice cookie would be nice, too, you know. :)  
**


	3. Airports Suck

_The castled crag of Drachenfels_  
_Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine,_  
_Whose breast of waters broadly swells_  
_Between the banks which bear the vine._  
_And hills all rich with blossom'd trees,_  
_And fields which promise corn and wine,_  
_And scatter'd cities crowning these,_  
_Whose far white walls along them shine,_  
_Have strew'd a scene, which I should see_  
_With double joy wert thou with me._

_And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes,_  
_And hands which offer early flowers,_  
_Walk smiling o'er this paradise:_  
_Above, the frequent feudal towers_  
_Through green leaves lift their walls of gray;_  
_And many a rock which steeply lowers,_  
_And noble arch in proud decay,_  
_Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers;_  
_But one thing want these banks of Rhine, --_  
_Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine!_

Excerpt from Longing, ~ George Gordon, Lord Byron

* * *

"All right, you have three minutes to pack. Go!" Russia said, smiling. America threw the car door open and dashed into his temporary apartment. Russia laughed; he had only been joking, but the American had seemed to take it seriously. He had warned his friend that Russia could be extremely cold, so he should pack warm clothing. Russia wondered if America had heard him; he had been happily staring out the window for most of the last day of the World Conference. It didn't seem to matter when England hit him warningly in the shoulder, trying to tell him to, 'pay attention, you bloody git'.

When America didn't emerge from his apartment after almost five minutes, Russia decided to go after him. Shoving the car keys into his pocket, he walked up the stairs to America's apartment on the fourth floor.

"America?" he asked, knocking on the door. When he touched it, the door swung open. Looking around, Russia smirked when he spotted America. He was trying to sit on his suitcase and zip it up at the same time. It wasn't working so well.

"Want some help?" Russia offered. America smiled gratefully.

"That'd be awesome, thanks," he said, getting off the overflowing suitcase. Without the weight holding it closed, the lid popped open, and America sighed.

"Here," Russia said, slapping the top closed and holding it down. "Try it now." With Russia's help, they were able to finally shut the suitcase. America flopped down on his bed, pretending to be worn out.

"Hmm," Russia observed. "If you are too tired to walk down to the car, perhaps you are too tired to come to the airport too...?" At that, America sprung up, smiling and grabbing the suitcase by the top handle. It extended, and America was able to drag it around by the wheels on the bottom.

"No way! Let's go!" he exulted, racing for the hallway. Russia followed, smiling fondly, and had to laugh when America tried to roll the suitcase down the stairs. As anyone could predict, it did not end well.

"The suitcase has a mind of it's own, da?" Russia commented teasingly. The suitcase had picked up too much momentum, and had gone faster than America could. It had then slammed into the back of America's leg, making his knee give out. Russia had had the opportunity to see his friend topple down the rest of the short flight of stairs, landing in an undignified heap on the landing.

"You would say that, while I'm down here in pain," America complained in a whining voice while Russia reached him. Kneeling down, Russia smiled at the man.

"I'm sorry," he said, extending his hand to help America up. "Are you all right?"

"I just raced my suitcase down the stairs with my head," America said, accepting Russia's offer of help. "How do you think I feel?"

"Judging from your complaints, you're fine," Russia determined. "But, for the sake of the thing, I will take the suitcase down the rest of the stairs." Russia pushed the handle back in and instead opted to use the non-extending handle on the side, so the suitcase was horizontal instead of dragging on the floor. "This way is much easier, da?" America grinned and nodded.

Their experience at the airport was not much of an improvement. When they went up the escalator to get to the check-in, America's shoelace got sucked under when he tried to get off. Unable to move forward, America hit the ground, one foot awkwardly twisted, toe of his boot pressed to the escalator top.

"Any help?" he requested, trying to sit up. Russia flipped open the little clear box that was next to the escalator. Upon pushing the large red button, the moving stairs stopped. Sitting on the ground next to America, Russia tried to get the shoelace out, but it was tangled horribly. A man offered to call Airport Police to help. All the while, America was sitting in a slightly painful manner, one leg splayed out beside him.

"You are a magnet for trouble, da?" Russia asked teasingly once the Police had come and freed America's foot. It had taken about five minutes, most of which had been them laughing about how the hell America's shoelace got so damn stuck. Now, they were walking to the check-in area again, America's shoes tied tightly.

"I suppose so," America said, grinning. "That's never happened before." That was what the Police had told them after getting America's shoelace out of the escalator, too. Russia and America had had to convince them for almost three whole minutes that he was fine; they seemed to feel bad about it.

When they got to the check-in, America and Russia hefted their bags onto the scale, presenting their boarding passes that Russia produced from his coat pocket. That was one of the few parts of their airport experience that was actually normal, and passed without incident.

Going through security wasn't a whole lot better than the escalator situation, but it did make Russia laugh. America forgot to take off his belt and the metal detectors began blaring when he walked through. When the attendant asked him to remove the belt and try again, America's eyes sparkled as he innocently replied, "But who'll hold the ladies back when my pants drop?"

The attendant wasn't as amused as Russia was; he took America to the side and swept his body with a hand-held metal detector instead. Russia waited for him on a bench, humming to himself and watching as the people went by. America caught his gaze and smiled, the attendant still waving the detector over his arms. When he finally determined that America wasn't a terrorist, but just a smartass, he let him rejoin Russia.

"You enjoy screwing with people, don't you?" Russia asked.

"I really do," America said, smiling. "So, where to now?" America was anxious to get wherever they were going, now that he had just publicly embarrassed himself and annoyed an airport attendant.

"Customs," Russia replied, pointing toward a line of booths, the word 'CUSTOMS' printed on a large sign in bold font. He and America checked in, displaying their passports and assuring them that they had no food or animals with them. The entire process took about forty-five minutes.

America was getting antsy; he was sick of airports. They smelled weird, like that special sawdust stuff the janitors used to clean up vomit back in elementary school mixed with grease. And the people there were kind of creepy; the employees looked like they'd rather be anywhere else, and glared at you if you asked them a question. And the passengers were either busy and plowed right over you, or they were just so slow that they were practically standing still when you were trying to get to your gate.

"What gate are we?" America asked, dodging around a man who was so preoccupied talking on his cell phone that he nearly hit America.

Russia glanced at one of their boarding passes. "B-14," he read off. Looking at the signs above their heads, he pointed down a hallway. "Down there, I think."

Despite their multiple holdups—mostly on America's part—the two had to wait in the terminal for twenty more minutes before they could finally board the plane. By then, it was nine at night, and America was getting tired.

"You can sleep on the plane," Russia promised. "It will be about a six hour flight." That sounded wonderful to America; he was almost falling asleep in his chair.

When they finally were able to board, Russia gave America his boarding pass, and America saw that they were some of the first to get on. Russia led them to a pair of seats, hefting their bags into the overhead compartments. They listened to the pilot's announcements, first in Russian, then in English. America was too tired to pay much attention to either version.

America looked out the window during take-off. He wouldn't admit it –what hero would? —but the high velocity sort of scared him. His hand clutched the armrest as tightly as he dared, watching as the trees rolled by, a dark blur against a slightly lighter background. Russia noticed, and rested his hand comfortingly on America's arm. America glanced at him, then relaxed, releasing the armrest from his death grip.

When they got up in the air, both of them looked out the window, down at the ground below them. It was raven's-feather-dark, with only little sparks of light accenting it, sparks that were really streetlights and headlights of cars. But they looked like orange-and-red stars in the night sky; similar to the white ones they would see if they looked up.

America wanted to stay up to talk to Russia, but he was so tired; he had had to get up early to attend the meeting soon enough to meet Russia before it. He soon fell asleep, sinking into the slightly gaudy fabric of his seat.

He woke only once during the flight. He realized that, while he was sleeping, his head had fallen against Russia's shoulder. Looking up to see if Russia was asleep, he noted that the nation was looking at him.

"How much longer?" America asked.

"Not very long, Alfred," Russia said quietly. "Just go back to sleep." America sighed, resting his head back on Russia's shoulder.

"M'kay, Vanya," he murmured, closing his eyes again. He fell asleep to the soft sounds of the plane and the warmth of Russia's hand on his, a contented smile gracing his lips.

* * *

**A/N: Yay! New chapter over spring break! Makes me laugh how everyone else in my classes are going out, getting drunk and laid, while I'm at home writing. Well, then I think that I'm the only one of them actually passing my courses, so I laugh again.**

**Oh, and the shoelace-in-the-escalator thing? Actually happened to me when I was a kid. These things always happen to me...  
**


	4. Latvia's Discovery

**A quick author's note!**

**Okay, I swear I've been working on my other Hetalia fanfic, the one about the rise and fall of Hitler? My less-popular fanfic, Troubled Souls in WWII. Sorry I haven't gotten a new chapter out, I've been researching it a lot. I swear it isn't discontinued!**

**Thanks!  
**

* * *

_Ah, sun-flower! Weary of time,_  
_Who countest the steps of the Sun;_  
_Seeking after that sweet golden clime,_  
_Where the traveller's journey is done;_

_Where the Youth pined away with desire,_  
_And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow,_  
_Arise from their graves, and aspire_  
_Where my sun-flower wishes to go._

Ah! Sun-Flower, ~William Blake

Canciones (Songs):  
Listen To the Rain, Evanescence  
Somebody to Love, Anne Hathaway  
Silent Sanctuary, Maala Mo Sana

* * *

Russia blinked, surprised. America had called him 'Vanya'. Perhaps he was not sure what it meant? No, America knew. Russia was sure of it. He looked down at the man asleep next to him, leaning against his shoulder again. Smiling, Russia remembered that America could act so very child-like at times. Russia checked his watch, and saw that they still had two hours to go.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but Russia was woken by the plane touching down, rising once in the air again before landing a final time. His back hurt; he had been sitting in the same position for hours, his neck at an odd angle. America, of course, was still sleeping, unfazed by the plane's abrupt landing. He didn't seem to care that as the plane slowed, they were being pressed forward into their seat belts. Russia let him sleep a few minutes more as the plane pulled up to a gate and waited for the pilots to turn off the seat-belt-sign. There was a ding when the little light, featuring two hands holding an outline of a seat belt together, went out. Everyone simultaneously stood up, talking and turning on cell phones.

_Yeah, we landed_, and, _we haven't gotten off the plane yet, mom_, could be heard throughout the aircraft, along with conversations taking place in Russian. When the flight attendants opened the doors, Russia decided to wake America. He shook him gently by the shoulder, noting how America didn't seem to want to wake.

"Alfred, get up," he whispered,

"Mmmngh…" was all America groaned, burying his face in Russia's arm, eyes shutting tighter. Russia laughed softly.

"Alfred," he said. "We're here." America sat up instantly, looking out the window in eagerness. Russia smiled at America's sudden change of heart; he would have to remember that for other times when the American was being difficult. Wait…other times? When was he expecting to be visiting America in the morning, before he was awake? Russia shook his head, trying to clear it of strange thoughts that he would have for later, and went back to watching America.

It was snowy, America noticed. Scratch that, make it _very_ snowy. America could barely see the airport itself under its blanket of snow. The sky was grey with clouds, and the wind was whipping the snow around, making it swirl and dance in the air.

"Wow," America said. "It's so pretty."

"It truly is, da?" Russia said, smiling. It was the first time that he had seen the snow as something other than misery incarnate. With America, the snow was transformed into something beautiful and wondrous. Turning to America, he could see that he wasn't lying about liking it. America's turquoise eyes were wide, like an owl's, and his lips were shaped in a wide smile as he looked out at the snowy palace, which was really only an airport terminal.

"Vanya, the plane?" America reminded him, smirking as Russia's face turned slightly red; why was America referring to him so affectionately? And how did he know what the appellation for 'Ivan' was, in the first place? But, when Russia checked, America was right, for almost all the passengers had departed from the plane. Russia followed America out into the aisle, grabbing their bags from the overhead bins and setting off. America walked quickly, eager to get off the plane.

"I don't think I've ever sat still for six hours before," America commented. "Unless I was sleeping, but still." Russia smiled.

"It was a rather long flight," he replied. "Which way to the baggage claim?" he asked once they had stepped into the airport. There were long, wide windows forming the walls, giving an incredible view unto the snow, swirling down from the sky like fluff off a dandelion in the summer, much like those in that field that America had led them to just a few days before.

"You mean you don't know?" America asked, alarmed. "You know my Russian is horrible!"

"Yes, I know. This is why I am making you practice. Practice makes perfect, da? If I were not here, how would you find baggage claim?" Russia said.

"I would find someone who speaks English," America answered promptly. Russia sighed, remembering that the nation was also stubborn.

"Suppose no one speaks English. Please at least tell me that you can sound out the words?" Russia said, pointing upwards to a sign suspended from the ceiling. There were little pictures, indicating the places that were printed on beside them in Russian.

"Uh," America stalled, looking up at the first line. "_V-vannye…komnaty_?" he sounded out. He looked at Russia for confirmation.

"Unless you are looking for the bathrooms, not yet," Russia said, smiling. America groaned and looked back up at the sign.

"My neck's starting to hurt," he grumbled. "Okay, so the next one says, eh…_b-bagazha_?"

Russia clapped once. "Very good," he praised. America beamed, delighted with himself. "But now what are you going to do?"

America's smile froze, then dropped. "Ask you where it is?" he said, knowing it was the wrong answer. He knew Russia was only trying to help him, but it was slightly frustrating when all he really wanted to do was go explore.

"Remember, I'm not here. So what are you going to do?" Russia said again.

"Why am I here, in Russia, all alone, anyway?" America asked curiously. Russia hesitated, wondering the same thing himself. He could only really think of how America looked slightly attractive with his head cocked to the side, azure eyes drifting to glance out the windows every so often. Russia mentally kicked himself in the head. Such strange thoughts…

"Er, never mind," Russia decided. "You're supposed to follow the arrows, see?" He pointed to the large green arrow signs above. America followed where it was pointing with his eyes, then with his body.

"Come on, Vanya!" he said, beckoning. "I think it's this way!" Russia nodded in agreement, following America down the halls. When they reached baggage claim, Lithuania was waiting for them, having already gotten their bags.

"Lithuania!" America said, clapping the nation on the back. "Great to see you again!"

"It's good to see you too, America," Lithuania replied, smiling. Russia remembered that Lithuania had been living with America for a while before the Great Depression. He felt a sudden surge of jealousy; why did America have to be so damned pleased to see Lithuania? Russia tried to clear his head, for he had no reason for feeling that way, no right to feel that envious of the pair's friendship. He and America already had one—a strong one, too—so he tried to banish those ideas from his mind as he approached America and Lithuania.

"Good morning, Russia," Lithuania said, smiling confidently. Russia was with America. He was completely fine now, and would be as long as America stayed. Lithuania tried not to laugh at the looks that America was throwing Russia; the Russian may have been ignorant of his own feelings, but America most certainly wasn't.

"Good morning, Lithuania," Russia greeted with a grin. "Thank you for retrieving our bags."

Lithuania nodded. "No problem. Let's go; Estonia's got the car waiting out front." He smiled widely as he said to America, "We're your own personal chauffeurs for the day, taking you anywhere you want to go."

"Oh, cool!" America said happily. "I want to go see everywhere!"

"Well, we will have to set our bags back home first," Russia said reasonably. America rolled his eyes. "Then we can go anywhere you like," Russia promised.

"Fine, we'll make a quick stop at your house," America said, grinning. "But drive slowly; I want to see stuff!"

Russia just laughed and followed Lithuania to the pick-up area of the airport. The moment they stepped outside, America was hit in the face with snow. He spluttered and wiped off Texas on his sleeve, only to be blinded with more snow after a second.

"Sorry," Russia said, his head already down. "I forgot to warn you. You should duck your head against the snow, so it doesn't get in your face. Da, Lithuania?"

"Yeah, Russia's right," Lithuania. He had previously put his head down, only looking where he was going from under his hood, which was nearly covering his eyes. "It's also useful because you can look at your feet, so you don't slip on the ice."

"Okay!" America said agreeably. He began to stare at his shoes, and found that it was indeed a better way of getting around in the snow. He could feel it seeping through his own hood and dampening his hair, melting, and drops of freezing water running down the sides of his face. But looking down at the ground at the smushed snow with footprints indented in it quickly became boring. America glanced up in the hopes of seeing something. What he saw was more snow in his eyes. He went back to looking at the ground as he walked again and only looked up to get into the car, the black paint of which was dripping with snow, icicles having formed on the bottom. Russia climbed in next to him as America shook his head, flipping snow bits off his hair.

"Hi Estonia!" America said to the driver. Estonia gave him a quick smile in the rear-view mirror.

"Hello America," he said. "Where to, Russia?" he asked to the man beside America.

"Home for a moment, so we can unload our bags," Russia said. Estonia started the car, thankfully turning on the heat. America smiled when he could finally look at stuff outside without unwillingly eating snow.

"Wow, what's that, Vanya?" America asked, pointing out the window. Estonia and Lithuania glanced at each other, smiling. They made sure not to let Russia see their smirks as he glanced over to what America was pointing at.

"That is a church," Russia confirmed as they passed it. The ornate, colorful building was America's object of fascination for all of two more seconds before he lost sight of it in the snow. If he looked hard enough, the circular domes on top with their bright-colored patterns could still be seen through the haze.

"It's so big," America said, causing Lithuania to bite his lip to keep from laughing, various "that's what she said" jokes circulating through his mind. He needed to stop thinking like that, but it was better than his usual depressing thoughts, so he just let it continue.

"Yes, churches in Russia are widely known for their size and colors," Russia said, watching America with amusement. America's eyes were wide again, like a cat's in the dark as he tried to see everything outside at once. "We will be coming back, you know," Russia told him. "There's no need to see everything now."

"I know, but it's fun!" America said, and kept staring out the windows. Russia grinned and let him, glancing up to Lithuania and Estonia just as the two hid their entertained expressions.

At one point, America caught sight of something interesting out of the opposite window, and practically climbed into Russia's lap to see it better. Russia arched an eyebrow, but didn't try to get America off him. Instead, he jokingly flicked America lightly on the head, reminding him that later, he could see things for as long as wanted. By that time, Lithuania had to turn to his window to keep the two in the backseat from seeing his silent laughter. Even stoic Estonia was trying not to smile as he pulled up to their house. Latvia came out, beaming and offering to carry their luggage in.

"Nice to see you again, Latvia," America said as they trudged up the walkway. "Or, well, it would be, if I actually _could_ see you." He had forgotten to lower his head when he exited the car, and had gotten a face full of snow as a rebuke.

"It's nice to see you, too, America," Latvia said, holding the door open for the other three. "How are you?"  
"I'm great! I can't wait to go see stuff," he said, nudging Russia in a very non-subtle way. Russia sighed, half exasperated and half amused by America's impatience.

"As soon as we put our bags down, then we can go wherever you want," he said for what must have been the eightieth time that day. But he just couldn't be angry with the American; his child-like manner was just barely more endearing than obnoxious.

"So, now?" America said. "Or is there something else we need to do?"

"We just need to get the bags to our rooms," Russia said. "It will take all of maybe thirty seconds."

"Oh, I can do that," Latvia said cheerfully. "You guys can go; I'll get the bags."

"Thank you Raivis," Russia said, smiling at the younger nation. "We will be back in a few hours." Latvia nodded and began hauling their bags upstairs as the other four left. It was easy to tell whose was whose; America's bag was emblazoned with a large American flag, and his luggage tag was labeled 'hero'. Latvia still wondered why Lithuania and Estonia thought there was something going on between Russia and America; he couldn't see it. So what if America was visiting Russia and staying in his house? France and England did that all the time. Well, mostly just France while England was sleeping. _Oh_, Latvia thought. _Maybe that was why._ It certainly would explain why England looked perpetually angry. Shrugging, he went back to dragging the baggage up the staircase.

* * *

**A/N: Yay! Sorry this took longer than usual, but this bit took longer to write. I had a brief bout with my OCD problem. Nothing serious, but it makes it hard for me to concentrate on anything that isn't cleaning or rearranging my books,**** so it might take a little while for the next chapter to be written. **

**Reviews? Suggestions? Oh, and there's a poll on my profile, which I'd like people to answer for me. It won't change my mind on what I've got in mind, but it'll be nice for me to see what people want. So far, two people have voted, and it's a tie. Which isn't exactly helpful. :)  
**


	5. A Visit to St Basil's Cathedral

**First, an author's note! Hello all, I got bored a while ago, so I created a playlist of the songs I listened to while writing this. If you want to listen to it, the link is on my profile, at the top so you won't have to scroll down through the other crap I've plastered on there like band-aids on a three-year-old.**  
**__________________**____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_Gem of the crimson-color'd Even,_  
_Companion of retiring day,_  
_Why at the closing gates of heaven, _  
_Beloved Star, dost thou delay?_

_So fair thy pensile beauty burns,_  
_When soft the tear of twilight flows;_  
_So due thy plighted love returns_  
_To chambers brighter than the rose;_

_To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love_  
_So kind a star thou seem'st to be,_  
_Sure some enamour'd orb above_  
_Descends and burns to meet with thee!_

_Thine is the breathing, blushing hour_  
_When all unheavenly passions fly,_  
_Chased by the soul-subduing power_  
_Of Love's delicious witchery._

Excerpt from To the Evening Star, ~Thomas Campbell

* * *

"Where are we going, Russia?" Estonia asked, pulling out of the driveway. Russia glanced out the window for a moment, considering.

"Red Square of Moscow," he decided, turning to America. "I think you should see St. Basil's Cathedral, since you liked that other church this morning."

"Sounds great!" America said, smiling and staring intently out the window. Estonia began driving down the highway, and everyone was happily watching America stare out the windows, gawking cheerfully at practically anything.

America exclaimed, "Oh, cool!" when they reached the Square. On each side stood the Kremlin, GUM Department Store, State Historical Museum, and St. Basil's Cathedral. "Hang on, it's not red?" America asked, confused.

"Technically," Russia explained, grinning. "The name for it is 'krasnaya', which means 'red' now, but when it was named, it meant 'beautiful'."

"Oh, that makes sense," America said. The car made a different noise going over the cobblestones of the Square than it did on the regular roads, kind of more bumpy, but not in an uncomfortable way. America noted the large church on one end, tall and amazingly colorful.

"That is St. Basil's Cathdral," Russia said, following America's eyes. "A Russian Orthodox church built in 1552 to celebrate the capture of Kazan and Astrakhan. It was originally known as Trinity Church, or Trinity Cathedral, but it burnt down in 1583, but it was fully rebuilt by 1593. Once rebuilt, it was known as the Cathedral of the Intercession of the Virgin on the from the late 16th century through the entire 17th it was known as Jerusalem. Its current and final name was received when Basil the Blessed, also known as Basil Fool for Christ, died around 1552. It may have been 1557; no one knows for sure." Russia explained the church's history as they got out of the car—Estonia and Lithuania saying they would wait for them out of the cold—and walking to the Cathedral.

"Why'd they name the church after him?" America asked, tilting his head up to look at it. He didn't care much anymore that the snow was in his face; he guessed he had gotten used to it.

"Basil was born to Jacob and Anna in the portico of the local church in Yelokhovo." Russia began explaining, but was interrupted by America.

"Wait, 'portico'? What's that?" America asked. Russia led him out of the snow and under the roof of the cathedral.

"This is a portico," Russia said. "The place where there is a roof, but no walls. Replacing the walls, there are usually columns."

"Like the Lincoln Memorial Building back in D.C?" America asked.

Russia tried to think about America's various monuments dedicated to his variety of presidents. Wasn't the Lincoln one the one with the large statue of the man in the chair? The one with the beard? "Da, I think that's it," Russia murmured. "So da, that is a good example of a portico."

"Oh, I see. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you. Please, go on," America apologized. As soon as Russia began talking again, America gazed at him with rapt attention. He was actually paying more attention that he paid to almost anything, including World Conferences.

"Basil developed a habit of shoplifting and giving the things he took to poor people. I suppose you could say he was the Russian version of your Robin Hood," Russia mused. "He would wear rags, and sometimes nothing at all, and wore chains clamped to his wrists and ankles. St. Basil also chastised the Grand Prince of Moscow at the time for his horrible tendencies to injure the lower classes, and for not listening during church services. But he also impressed the Grand Prince by accurately foreseeing that there would be a fire in Moscow in 1547. When he died on August second, the Grand Prince of Moscow even volunteered to be a pallbearer. Basil was buried in the Cathedral, and was declared to be a saint circa 1580."

"Where was he buried in the cathedral?" America asked. He wasn't sure why it intrigued him so much, but it was actually pretty interesting. Plus, Russia looked happy to be able to share the cathedral's history with him.

"All right, come on outside again," Russia said, trying to tug America out from under the portico and into the snow. He could instantly tell that it was going to be a challenge.

"Aw, but it's cold out," America whined, dragging his feet on the stone floor.

"Don't you want to see the tribute that was build to the man who inspired the name of this Cathedral?" Russia asked. He had stopped attempting to drag America out, instead opting for backing out on his own. Just like Russia knew he would, America grudgingly muttered something affirmative and rushed after him, calling for Russia to wait up. It was another of his child-like traits: America never wanted to be left alone somewhere. That was probably the reason he had Tony the alien, and that brief bout with befriending all the whales at Japan's. Russia heard America's quick footsteps echoing off the stone as he ran to catch up to him. Russia walked a few feet in the snow and pointed to a small dome on the Cathedral.

"See that dome over there?" Russia asked. America tried to follow where he was pointing, and came to the conclusion that it was the large, striped one on the right.

"That one?" he asked, gesturing to the dome. Russia shook his head.

"Nyet, not that one, the one over to the left." Russia took hold of America's wrist and moved his arm over left, until America saw the smaller, green-and-red-colored dome, with golden points going up towards the tapered tip.  
"Oh yeah, I see it now! The one with the golden cross on the top?" America questioned.

"They all have crosses on the top. But yes, that's the one," Russia confirmed. "It was the ninth chapel built. St. Basil was buried there, too. There used to be only eight domes in perfect symmetry, and they each stood for a different assault on the city of Kazan. The symmetry was thrown off when the ninth one was built."

"Can we go inside?" America asked. "I'm losing feeling in my fingers. And my face feels numb."

Russia laughed quietly. "Of course, Alfred. Come on," he said, leading America back under the portico and into the Cathedral. "St. Basil's Cathedral is now actually a museum, so it is not a church anymore."

America gaped open-mouthed in awe when they walked inside the Cathedral. Beautiful old portraits had been carefully painted on the walls, depicting men in armor wielding swords; women in colorful robes kindly embracing children; and both men and women simply standing there, peaceful looks upon their faces.

Where there were no pictures of people, faded designs illustrated the walls. They didn't seem to be anything specific, but that made them no less picturesque. Gentle black swirls caressing the graying paint of the walls, with curved shapes of red, blue, and green on the ends. When America looked again, the weird shapes looked like flowers; tulips, sort of. And the green ones looked like leaves, resting softly under the red and blue flower prints.

Doorways were bordered with the designs, and on each side stood columns, also bearing the motifs. The doors themselves were built with equal precision; some of them were carved from dark wood, and others were adorned with golden patterns, twirling delicately along the painted surface.

"Wow, Vanya, this is amazing," America said softly, still looking around with wide eyes. Blinking, he stopped looking up; there were ornate golden chandeliers hanging from heavy black chains above them. Though they were nice to look at, the light had burned a blobby circle shape into America's retinas.

"Trippy," he muttered, waiting for the multicolored shape to stop spinning around in his vision. Russia looked at him in confusion.

" 'Trippy', Alfred?" he asked. America didn't respond, still blinking and turning his head randomly. Russia waved a hand in front of America's face, and America turned to look at him.

"Oh, it's just the lights," he explained. Russia gave an, 'ah' of understanding, though he still wasn't quite sure what America meant. By that time, the little purplish blobs had disappeared, leaving America free to look around unhindered again. Russia began taking America around, pointing out the specific sights and attractions. America went along with him enthusiastically, smiling and asking numerous questions.

"Can we see that place where St. Basil was actually buried?" America asked curiously.

"Of course. It's right here on the bottom floor," Russia said, leading the way down the halls. He matched his pace with America's slow one as America looked around at everything with interest. No matter how long he stared at the intricate patterns on the walls, they never ceased to capture his interest.

"This is St. Basil's chapel," Russia announced, and America tore his eyes away from the ceiling to look in front of him. There was a showy silver casket in the middle of the room, with some sort of sign on the wall next to it. America looked at it, but found that it was in Russian.

"You're not going to make me try to read it out again, are you?" America asked warily. Russia smiled and shook his head.

"It just says that this is the casket of St. Basil the Blessed, and this is where he is entombed," Russia explained. "It is said that when it was first opened, his body was entirely intact, a waxy yellow color, and it smelled like Basil."

America paused for a moment. "I'm not sure whether to find that awesome or creepy," he said. Russia grinned and America continued to gaze at the chapel. After that, Russia led him up a spiral staircase of shady wood and steep stone, saying that it hadn't been discovered until 1970, to the Chapel of the Intercession of the Blessed Virgin. One entire wall was dedicated to portraits of everything from people to landscapes. And it wasn't just a little framed painting. No, the whole wall was covered with them, in various shades of brilliant blue and shimmering gold. Russia gestured grandly to it and explained that it was a Baroque iconostasis from the 19th century.

After the Chapel of the Intercession, Russia took America to the rest of the Cathedral. They saw the chalice that used to belong to Tsar Aleksey Mikhailovich in the 17th century, a small replica of the Cathedral in another one of the chapels, and many more oil paintings and wide, arched windows, giving a spectacular view unto the Red Square. In some places of the Cathedral, the paint on the walls had faded so much, it was reduced to a faint outline. America smiled as Russia would gesture to things, explaining their importance, or just pointing something out about them.

After they had seen everything in the Cathedral, Russia took America back outside. The snow was beginning to stop, and the flakes were much more infrequent. America was grateful that he didn't have to lower his head anymore and turned his face to the sky, smiling. Russia took him over to a large statue in the front, featuring two men, one standing and wielding a sword, the other sitting and sporting a large shield.

"This is the Statue to Minin and Pozharsky," Russia explained. "Dmitry Pozharsky was a prince, and Kuzma Minin was a butcher. They collected the all-Russian volunteer army and removed Poland from the Moscow Kremlin, which ended the Time of Troubles in 1612. It used to be in the middle of the Red Square, but people thought that it impeded parades through the square, so it was moved here in 1936."

While Russia was explaining and America was talking excitedly, Estonia and Lithuania were still sitting in the car, watching out the back window with entertainment.

"How long have they been in there?" Lithuania asked.

"About an hour and a half," Estonia said. "Oh, wait, here they come." And he was correct; Russia and America were walking back to the car; America was trying to catch snowflakes in his mouth, and Russia was simply watching him with amusement. All three laughed when a flake landed on America's nose, and he went cross-eyed trying to see it. America laughed along with them and shoved Russia's shoulder playfully. Russia, unsure of how to reply, reciprocated the gesture. Unfortunately for him, his version was a tad too hard, and America landed on his butt in the snow. He began laughing again and a more-than-slightly confused Russia helped him up. America was still laughing when the two reached the car. Estonia got out and opened the door for Russia and America.

"Where to now?" he asked, unable to keep from smiling.

"Here, why don't you let me drive, Eduard?" Russia asked. "You've been driving all day, and it was a long drive from the house. I'll do it for the rest of the day."

"Oh, well, sure, if you insist," Estonia said. He felt uneasy about letting Russia drive for a moment, though he wasn't sure why. He and Lithuania switched to the backseat, and America clambered into the passenger's seat. Russia got behind the wheel and looked through the windshield at the Square.

"I think we should all go to the G.U.M," he decided. America looked at him with a confused look on his face. "It's a department store," Russia explained. "A very large one, like a mall."

"Awesome! Let's go!" America said happily. Russia started the car, and Estonia was reminded why he had felt nervous about Russia driving. The reminder came in the form of Russia two-wheeling it across the square, a clueless smile on his face as he nearly ran over a mass of people.

* * *

**A/N: Yay! 5th chapter! I decided to split this particular bit into a few pieces, so it needed some altering. Thanks for reading!**

**Reviews are always welcomed, and suggestions and constructive criticism are appreciated!  
**


	6. Backstory

**A/N: Okay, so here we are! Sorry for this being so late, but what with finals and all, I've been a tad preoccupied. But enough with excuses, here's the next chapter. Sorry for any spelling/grammatical mistakes there may be; I finished this at a late time.**

Even after Russia stopped the car, America didn't move to get out of it. His blue eyes were still fixated on the windshield, and he was replaying their short, terrifying trip to the GUM in his mind. Not only had Russia two-wheeled it across the square and nearly killed a number of people, but he had almost crashed head-on into the GUM department store itself, skidding to a halt just before they were smushed into the stone.

"We're here," Russia pointed out when no one got out. In the backseat, Estonia and Lithuania shared America's wide-eyed expression. Never let Russia drive ever again...Never let Russia drive ever again, Estonia repeated to himself. The sound of fingernails popping out of seat fabric could be heard as the three men released their death grips on their seats. Russia smiled in satisfaction as they slipped out of the car. What he didn't notice was that America needed to steady himself by holding onto the hood of the car for a moment before regaining his equilibrium.

"Er, Russia?" Estonia asked tentatively, making sure to be on the other side of the car for safety, and looking at the man he was addressing over the roof.

"Da, Eduard?" Russia asked, slamming the driver's side door shut. The loud noise made Estonia flinch, but he kept going.

"What say I drive again for the rest of today? I mean, you should be more focused on our guest than on the roads," he added hurriedly. Russia looked thoughtful, then nodded.

"If you wish to, Eduard. Oh, but Toris, you take over if he needs you to," Russia said. Lithuania nodded quickly, and nearly had an embolism when he noticed that the front of the car was only a foot away from the GUM building. And there were long, black skid-marks starting from where Russia had stepped on the brakes. America shot a furtive glance at the Baltic nations; he had obviously noticed the proximity to the car and building, which Russia was now pointing at with his Pipe. The Russian was chatting animatedly about the history of the GUM department store, unaware that the three other men were now just sitting on the hood of the car, trying to stop the images of a hundred flattened people lying all bloody on the Square.

Luckily, America had a brief distraction when his cell phone rang. He grinned at Russia and told him to hang on a minute before answering.

"Sorry, but only my boss has this number. Hello?" he said, flipping open the phone. "Uh huh...yeah...we're in Moscow right now...no, I dunno...okay!" America trailed a finger over the phone, searching for something. He smiled when he found the speakerphone button. "He wants to talk to you," he said to Russia, holding the phone between them.

"Zdrastvuitye, sir," Russia said politely.

"Greetings, Mr. Braginski," America's boss said. "How're things over there?"

"We're doing fine," America said. "Ivan's been showing me around Moscow."

"Are we still on for the START I renewal, Mr. Braginski?"

"Yes sir, President Medvedev still plans on meeting you in April in Prague," Russia confirmed. America smiled absently, swinging his legs back and forth in slight boredom. he had sort of forgotten why he had come to Russia's in the first place. Something about nuclear weapons or renewal of something... something along those lines, perhaps?

"Mr. Jones?" America's name made him look back to the phone. "Anything to add that doesn't include robots?"

"Hm...nope, I think I'm good," America decided. "Bye!"

"Goodbye Mr. Jones, Mr. Braginski." America snapped the phone shut, smiling apologetically at Russia.

"Sorry about that," he said. "But you know, it's the Boss and all."

"I understand; my boss frequently-" Russia was interrupted by his own cell phone. Lithuania laughed.

"Speak of the Devil and he may appear," he said as Russia answered.

"Yonda?" Russia said into the phone. America could hear muffled Russian coming from the other end, and he recognized the voice as that of Russia's boss. "_Da...nyet...pochemu? Oh, pravil´no. Da, ja budu tam v odno mgnovenie. Da svidania_*," Russia said, pocketing the phone

"What's up with Mr. Boss-Man?" America asked curiously.

"My boss wants me to come finish up some work," Russia explained. "Luckily, the Kremlin is just across the square. Estonia and Lithuania can show you around for a few hours."

"Aw, why? What's the paperwork?" America whined, once again reminding Russia of how childish America could act. It made him smile.

"Oh, I don't know. Probably something to do with that disarmament later, I'd guess," Russia said.

"So it is the disarmament!" America exclaimed. "That was it!" Russia looked incredulously at him, eyebrow raised.

"You forgot what the whole reason your boss was coming here was for?" he asked disbelievingly. America smiled sheepishly, glancing down at his feet.

"Not completely," he defended himself. "I knew there was going to be something to do with bombs in the very near future." He stopped there, for when he tried to think of lucid arguments, pictures of robots were the only things that came to mind. Dammit.

"Well, you truly haven't changed," Lithuania said, grinning. America swatted him playfully and smiled.

"Guess not," he admitted. America yawned and rubbed his eyes for a moment.

"Tired?" Russia asked, amused. America grinned.

"Hey, for me, it's five in the morning," he said. "Stupid jet lag."

"We can get coffee in the store," Lithuania promised with a helpful smile. "Or soda; whatever you want."

"Great!" America said, turning back to Russia. "All right Ivan, we won't keep you; you can go the Kremlin while these guys tow me around." Russia clapped him on the shoulder, taking care not to land him in the snow again like last time, and promised he would be back in two hours tops.

"Okay! Call me when you get out," America instructed, scribbling down his number on a scrap of paper Lithuania gave him. Russia nodded and split off from the group, heading into the Kremlin, where his boss met him after Security.

"Good morning, sir," he said to him.

"Greetings Mr. Braginski," President Medvedev said briskly. "You forgot to finish those papers from last week."

"Ah, right," Russia said, trying to remember. He actually couldn't recollect any time last week when he had worked on any papers; perhaps that was his boss' point. Medvedev walked with Russia into his office. Russia wondered what he could still want, but tried to ignore it. Sitting behind his desk, Russia began to read over the papers. He had been right; they were mainly forms about the START 1 in April. Reduction of nuclear warheads, a bunch of percentages, sign at the bottom, random acronyms, numbers, and more signatures; everything Russia already knew.

"So where's Mr. Jones?" Medvedev asked. He had sat silently in a chair at the side of Russia's office and idly watched him begin scribbling out a hasty signature.

"Oh, I left him with Lithuania and Estonia. They'll show him around the Square," Russia said, not looking up from his work.

"How does he like it here?" Russia chuckled as he was scanning over a wordy paragraph that basically stated by how much missiles would be diminished.

"He hasn't closed his eyes since he got here," Russia told him. "Wants to see everything at once, be everywhere at once, all in one day. Loves it, except for the snow part. He forgets to keep his head down at times."

"That's good to hear." Medvedev looked hesitantly at Russia, who was holding the pen up at eye level, watching with captivated purple eyes. The tip had become unscrewed a little bit and black ink was beginning to drip out, splattering onto the glass desk top in a pattern that reminded Russia fondly of blood...

"Mr. Braginski?" Russia blinked and looked up at Medvedev. He had a sort of frightened expression on, and was seemingly retreating as far back into his chair as possible. Glancing back down, Russia saw the ink droplets on the desk. He reached over to wipe them off, idly wondering why Medvedev was shrinking back into his seat.

"Da?" Russia asked curiously, going back to his papers. Medvedev shook his head.

"Nothing, nothing," he said hastily, returning to his normal position, though he still looked a little disturbed. Russia shrugged a shoulder and returned to his paperwork.

An hour later, Russia bid Medvedev a hasty goodbye - Medvedev was still looking at him with an odd expression, for some reason - and was trying to call America.

"Hello?" America answered inquisitively.

"Alfred, where are you three?" Russia asked, giving his surroundings a cursory glance.

"We're all the way across the Square," America said. He sounded like he was yelling a bit. "Here, can you see us?"

"No..." Russia said, squinting around at the Square. "Hang on, are you the one jumping around and waving your arms in the air?"

"Yep, that's me!" America said. "I'll see you in two minutes."

Russia snapped the phone closed and stowed it in one of the immense pockets of his long coat. He met America most of the way across the Square, followed by Lithuania and Estonia.

"Hello America," Russia said. "How was the GUM?"

"It was awesome! There's cool stores and stuff everywhere, and-" America began rambling, but it was quickly cut off by another yawn. "And it's about six in the morning for me," he finished.

"I think we should get him home," Lithuania said, laughing slightly. "I remember that America can get rather interesting when sleep-deprived."

"I'll drive," Estonia added quickly. Russia shrugged agreeably and helped America stumble to the car.

"You seem rather intoxicated," Russia commented, watching as America could barely walk in a straight line.

"Nah, I just get that way when I'm tired," America explained once they were in the car. "Plus, I got really hyper off way too much coffee, and I guess it's kinda winding down."

"I knew there was some amount of caffeine he's not allowed to have, some kind of limit," Lithuania commented, "but I guess I forgot."

"Wasn't your fault; I forget all the time," America said brightly. He really did sound sort of like a person who was very happy as the result of way too many drinks.

"America, why don't you just get some rest," Lithuania suggested, hearing the slight slurred quality to America's voice. "We'll get home in about an hour, and you'll probably fall asleep before then, anyway."

Less than three minutes later, America was asleep, leaning against the car door. Lithuania and Estonia were chatting quietly in the front seats, and Russia was looking aimlessly out the window. After a while, they passed something that made Russia's head turn, eying it in consideration until it was out of sight. Smirking, he realized he had the beginnings of their next escapade.

Translations:

Da...Yes  
nyet...no  
pochemu?: Why?  
_Oh, pravil´no_: Oh, that's it.  
_Da, ja budu tam v odno mgnovenie_: Yes, I'll be there in a minute  
Da svidania: Goodbye

Sorry for any inaccuracies; I got this off the internet. Feel free to correct me if this is wrong!

**A/N: There you are, back on track and ready to move forward! Once again, sorry about the lateness, and I tried to make this chapter semi-longer than my previous ones in compensation. The next chapter may be a tad late as well, I'm still in the middle of finals and I've got to study my ass off. Until next time!**


	7. Alexander's Garden

**A/N: WARNING! IF YOU DO NOT ENJOY THE YAOI, SKIP PAST THE ITALICS! Though, if you're a pervy yaoi addict like me, go ahead and read! :D**

_America twisted his hands in Russia's hair as the other man licked up his neck, pressing him down into the bed. America's breathing was heavy in pleasure while Russia reached his mouth, pulling him into a deep kiss. The Russian's tongue invaded America's mouth, making him shiver and moan the other's name. Russia responded favorably, hands going down to America's waist and slipping past the belt on his pants. America arched back off the bed as Russia's hands traveled teasingly yet determinedly downward..._

"Alfred." America's whispered name in that familiar voice broke through his mind, waking him. His eyes opened and he was looking up at Russia, who was shaking him by the shoulder. "Wake up," he murmured quietly.

"What the hell...?" America muttered, sitting up. He was completely disoriented, and immensely confused. _That was one freaky-ass dream_, he thought, slightly wondering why he wanted to go back to sleep. And more immediately, why was Russia waking him up at one in the morning?

"Get up, Alfred," Russia told him. "Get dressed, and meet me down in the kitchen. Quietly; we wouldn't want to disturb the Baltics." He left America's room, leaving him tired and immensely confused. America blinked, adjusting to the light from his lit lamp; what was that dream about? Shaking it off, he drowsily got dressed-almost putting his pants on backwards as he did so-and stumbled downstairs. Russia was already dressed in his long coat, sitting at the kitchen table. He looked up when he saw America.

"Good. Come on," Russia said, tugging America out the door. The snow hit him in the face again, which was a mixed blessing. On the good side, he was awake now. The bad part was that he was cold and his face was wet. Again.

"Where are we going?" he asked as Russia pushed him into the backseat. Clasping his seat-belt, America waited for Russia to get in before repeating his question. Only when Russia started the car did he answer. Well, sort of.

"You'll see," he said mysteriously.

"Aww, come on," America whined half-heartedly. "You wake me up at one in the morning and drag me out to the car, taking me God-knows-where. The least you could do is give me a hint. City?"

"That would give it away," Russia said. "I'll give you this though: it's in Russia."

"Wow. I don't think you could have been more vague if you tried," America grumbled. Russia chuckled.

"Da, I could have," he promised.

"Vanya, please tell me why I'm awake at this ungodly hour," America begged. Russia looked at him in the rear-view mirror and smirked, shaking his head. "Okay, then, I'm going back to sleep. Wake me when we get there."

And with that, America leaned against the inside of the car door and fell asleep. Russia kept driving for around half an hour; because it was early and nobody else was on the road, Russia's driving got even worse. He nearly hit trees, ran over mailboxes, and was lucky the car didn't hydroplane and flip over. America somehow slept through it.

"Alfred," Russia said, parking the car. "We're here." He shook America's shoulder, hoping that the trick he used on the plane would work now. It didn't.

"I hate you," America mumbled tiredly.

"Da, I know," Russia said, smiling faintly. "Alfred, get up, though. You'll want to see this."

After much shaking, ordering, and finally bribing on Russia's part, America actually got out of the car. Snow crunching beneath his boots, America shivered and, in his still-mostly-asleep state, leaned into Russia for warmth. The Russian arched an eyebrow, but didn't complain; instead, he opted for taking a flashlight out of his pocket and passing it off to America.

"Are those...two-headed eagles?" America asked, shining the light on a large, black, cast-iron gate. On the top there were four small golden statues of what truly seemed to be eagles with two heads.

"Da, I believe so," Russia said, trying to focus on the miniaturization. He wondered what the architect had been thinking of, or whether he was simply distracted when he made them. How odd.

"Where are we, Vanya?" America questioned. "Tell me right now or I'll call Lithuania and tell him you kidnapped me."

"Fine, fine," Russia said, raising his hands in a mock gesture of giving up. "We're at Alexander Garden, in Moscow."

"Are we allowed to be here after dark?" America asked.

"I'm Ivan Braginski," Russia pointed out, "I can do pretty much anything I like in this country. Especially take you places."

"Wow Vanya, how...conceited," America said sarcastically. "And England says I'm full of myself."

"Wow Alfred, 'conceited' is a large word, especially for you," Russia shot back. It was all in good humor, America knew, but he wasn't expecting that from Russia.

"Shut up!" he said, laughter ruining the mock anger he tried to express. "What would you know about big words, anyway?"

"I know that the biggest non-technical word in your English language is antidisestablishmentarianism," Russia said. "And the biggest word in Russian is никотинамидадениндинуклеотидфосфатгидрин. The English word refers a nineteenth-century political movement that opposed the disestablishment of the Church of England as the state church of England. Now, the Russian term is technical, and is what you know as NADP."

America stared, then smirked. "Wrong! The biggest word in English is Blatherskite!"

Russia laughed at the ridiculousness. "Oh, really now? What does that even mean?"

"It means fantastic! Wonderful! Epic! Awesome!" America exclaimed.

"I know for a fact that that nonsense word is not in your dictionary," Russia said as they walked through the gates, under the slightly-creepy statues of multi-headed eagles.

"Wanna bet?" America asked. "Seriously, I'll bet you anything that is totally in my dictionary!"

"No, I am not betting with you; it would be far too easy. I believe you Americans have some odd phrase involving sugar and infants."

"Taking candy from a baby?" America suggested.

"Da, that is the phrase!" Russia claimed.

"Yeah, that's - hey, wait a minute! Are you calling me childish?" America asked, real anger leaking into his voice. His maturity had always been the stemming of many arguments with England, especially back when he was still a colony.

"Perhaps," Russia said, unaware that America was actually getting quite pissed off.

"I can't believe you'd say that, Ivan!" America said, and that time, Russia could hear the hurt in his voice.

"Alfred-"

"No, don't you 'Alfred' me; I'm completely mature, and I don't deserve to be called otherwise!" America began ranting, hatred glittering in his blue eyes. Russia didn't try to interrupt, but waited until America ran out of steam, which was about two full minutes later. By that time, America looked like he was on the verge of crying in abhorrence, his fists were balled up at his sides, and if looks could kill, Russia would've been dead three minutes ago.

"...America," Russia started after America calmed down a bit. "I'm sorry. I never meant to get you upset. I didn't know."

"Well, now you do," America seethed. Russia walked beside him to sit on a bench underneath a tree laden with snow.

"Yes, now I know," Russia said. They sat in silence for a while longer, and even America - who still hadn't found the bookstore they sold 'The Atmosphere' at yet - could see that Russia was getting slightly annoyed.

"America?" Russia asked.

"What?" America's words were clipped, his tone cold.

"Dammit, what do I have to do now?" Russia asked, utterly fed up. The creepy purple aura was beginning to appear around him, but America didn't care for the moment. "I apologized, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

"What else do you want to hear, then? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call you immature, and you're not childish, okay?"

"You've already said that," America said.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Russia asked. When America didn't answer, he knew he was right. "America, I swear I don't think you're childish, at least, not all the time. I promise."

"Right," America said sarcastically. "You're always protecting me, telling me 'don't do that it's dangerous', 'don't do that you'll die'. You can't let me go somewhere by myself, you've got to depict every moment of my trip here according to your weird, twisted sense of humor!"

Russia was going to retaliate during that, but realized it was true. He was overprotective of the younger American. America continued to list things Russia did, and the list was getting dumber and dumber by the second - America started going on about how Russia's vodka habit somehow proved he thought America was childish. Russia found that it was really beginning to grate on his nerves; how was he going to shut America up and prove his point at the same time?

"Alfred," he said, "shut up."

Before America had time to respond, Russia pulled the shorter man toward him, kissing him deeply, and perhaps a tad roughly. At first, America wanted to pull away to bitch the Russian out; but after a second, he decided not to, and let Russia pull him almost into his lap.

When they broke apart, America watched Russia tentatively.

"See, Alfred?" Russia asked, "I would never do that to anyone I thought was childish."

"Blatherskite," was America's response.

**A/N: Yay for the next chapter! And w00t; we're finally going to get into the reason why this is rated M in the first place! The next chapter will be out very soon, as I wrote most of it in a car trip about a week ago. **

**And yes, I do believe that America likes the movie Mary Poppins. XD I don't know why, it just seemed fitting. And yeah, sorry if this bit was all awkward, I don't write mushy shit. Everyone's all, "Write what it was like for you, your first kiss!" ...yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you all, but I've never kissed anyone. I don't even have a life. XD**

**Yes, I know that ****Blatherskite doesn't mean what America thinks it means. :)  
**

**So yeah, sorry this was late; my grandfather's in the hospital, so I've been really worried about him. Though he's keeping his spirits up by making passes on the 20-something-year-old med students. :)  
**


	8. DRUNK!

**A/N: O.O Well, making up for the time I spent not doing anything by getting this next chapter out so fast! :D Yay! Sorry, but there's not a lot of yaoi in this one. Well, there's a tad, but this is mostly insanity. I wrote this while I was taking the bus to my therapy session, so yeah...READ!  
**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own any of the songs mentioned in this!  
**

Russia looked around for a moment, vodka in hand, wondering where America had gotten to. It had been America's idea to go to a bar because, apparently, he wanted to see what Russian bars were like. Russia had agreed and allowed himself to be tugged along.

It had been a few days since Russia had taken America to Alexander Garden. Since then, Russia was about 90% sure that the Baltics knew everything. Mainly because America kept trying to get in his pants at least once an hour. Russia had to laugh at the eager little American.

But he hadn't seen America since he had told Russia that he was going to the bathroom, and that was fifteen minutes ago. Deciding that America had probably passed out somewhere, Russia got up and started searching the bar.

Unlike most of the other patrons in the bar, Russia wasn't drunk. Years of drinking vodka had left him with an almost infinite tolerance for alcohol; however, he wasn't so sure about America, who rarely drank.

After looking in the bathrooms, up on the roof, and asking the bartender, the Russian was unable to locate America. Maybe he'd wandered off somewhere, drunk, and couldn't get back? Probably not, even a drunk America wouldn't want to go anywhere without a companion, Russia reasoned.

_You're so good to me baby, baby_

Russia looked around, trying to find the source of that drunken, yet unmistakable voice. And lo and behold, there was America, completely hammered, up on a table with a few other drunken men, singing Avril Lavigne's 'Hot'. Russia wasn't sure whether to laugh or pull America down from there before he fell off and broke something. He settled for videotaping the performance with a smirk.

_I wanna lock you up in my closet when no one's around_

_I wanna put your hand in my pocket because you're allowed_

_I wanna drive you into the corner and kiss you without a sound_

_I wanna stay this way forever I'll say it loud_

America was now trying to dance, but was finding it difficult when the table was so crowded with drunk people. So one by one, the horribly off-tune choir jumped from the table and relocated to the stage, never stopping their singing. By that time, Russia was positively laughing, watching his boyfriend make an idiot of himself.

_Now you're in, and you can't get out_

This would make excellent blackmail, Russia thought, observing the performance through the video camera's screen.

_You make me so hot_

_Make me wanna drop_

_It's so ridiculous_

_I can barely stop_

_I can hardly breathe_

_You make me wanna scream_

_You're so fabulous_

_You're so good to me baby, baby_

_You're so good to me, baby, baby_

America caught Russia's eyes and smiled drunkenly, beckoning wildly. Russia didn't particularly want to, but America leaped off the stage – and fell, but he picked himself up well enough, with only minimal cursing at the floor to stop moving – and grabbed Russia, pulling him up onstage with him.

_I can make you feel all better, just take it in_

_And I can show you all the places you've never been_

_And I can make you say everything that you've never said_

_And I will let you do anything again and again_

The crowd of drunks cheered loudly at the new addition to their group, waving shot glasses and vodka bottles in the air as a show of appreciation. Russia didn't know the lyrics one bit, but didn't leave the stage, content with just continuing to tape America's performance. One of the drunk singers had somehow gotten hold of a microphone, and their voices were amplified, making it all the more clear how utterly wasted they were. And the fact that they wouldn't be joining a real choir anytime soon.

_Now you're in, and you can't get out_

America, seeing that Russia wasn't participating, went over to his boyfriend and tossed his arms around Russia's neck, laughing and slurring something that Russia didn't quite catch. Russia laughed at his partner's ridiculousness; America was entertaining when drunk, he found.

_You make me so hot_

_Make me wanna drop_

_It's so ridiculous_

_I can barely stop_

_I can hardly breathe_

_You make me wanna scream_

_You're so fabulous_

_You're so good to me baby, baby_

_You're so good to me baby, baby_

America surprised Russia by kissing him hard, twisting his hands in Russia's hair. Not about to be outdone, Russia kissed back, pulling America closer against him. America moaned upon feeling Russia's tongue in his mouth. Reluctantly, Russia pulled away when America's hand started fooling around with his pants.

"Aw, c'mon, Vanya," America slurred.

"Not when you're drunk," Russia promised. "Why don't you keep singing?"

_Kiss me gently_

_Always I know_

_Hold me, love me_

_Don't ever go_

_Ooh, yeah, yeah_

America threw himself at Russia again, and the taller man couldn't help but give in for a moment, letting himself kiss America in any manner but gently.

_You make me so hot_

_Make me wanna drop_

_It's so ridiculous_

_I can barely stop_

_I can hardly breathe_

_You make me wanna scream_

_You're so fabulous_

_You're so good to me_

"You can't stop that, can you?" Russia asked after America tried to get his pants off again.

"Mm…no," America decided, locking his lips with Russia's again. Russia pulled back for the third time, holding America just far enough away to keep him from kissing him again.

"Alfred, you're drunk," he told the American.

"Yes I am. I am shit-wasted," America proclaimed. "I have never been more drunkerer in my life than I am right now! It's actually pretty awesome, except for the spinning. Dammit, floor, stop fucking moving, I can't stand…"

_You make me so hot_

_Make me wanna drop_

_It's so ridiculous_

_I can barely stop_

_I can hardly breathe_

_You make me wanna scream_

_You're so fabulous_

_You're so good to me baby, baby_

_You're so good to me baby, baby_

Russia chuckled when America, after swearing the floor out, went right back to singing happily, not caring that he wasn't even sure when the song ended. As a result, the wasted choir sang the chorus at least three times extra before someone passed out and fell off the stage. The crowd apparently thought the man was stage-jumping, and they passed him back until there was nobody else there, so the unconscious man was just dropped on the floor.

_You're so good…_

Russia reached for his phone again; he had turned off the videotape after America dragged him onto the stage. Now, he had dragged America back off the stage and to the side. Dialing the home number, he had to stop America from joining the rest of his choir back up on the stage in their dirty rendition of nursery rhymes.

_Jack and Jill went up the hill_

_Each with a buck and a quarter_

_Jill came down with two fifty_

_That fucking whore!_

"Lithuania?" he asked when he heard the phone stop ringing.

"Russia-san?" a sleepy voice asked in confusion.

"Da. I'm sorry, but could you pick up America and I?" Russia asked. "I'm afraid we may have had a bit too much to drink."

Ordinarily, Russia would've just said, "fuck the alcohol, I'll drive myself," but America was so completely plastered that if Russia was driving, his companion most likely would've done something stupid and made Russia drive off the road or into a tree or whatever. In any case, someone had to restrain America on the drive home.

"Yeah, sure, of course," Lithuania agreed. "I'll be there in five minutes."

_I make the pussy purr with_

_The stroke of my hand_

_They know they gettin' it from me_

_They know just where to go_

_When they need their lovin man_

_They know I do it for free_

When Russia looked back for America, he discovered that he had run back to the stage, where the choir was singing "Cat Scratch Fever". Russia decided not to drag him back; let the American have his fun. He'd regret it with the hangover he'd have the next morning, anyway.

"Who knows the rest of the lyrics?" America shout-asked, looking around. The others had no idea, so they changed songs.

_I'm gonna slide it in_

_Right to the top,_

_Slide it in,_

_I ain't never gonna stop_

_Slide it in,_

_Right to the top,_

_I'm gonna slide it in, slide it in,_

_Slide it, in baby..._

Was is just him, or did all the songs seem like they were full of sexual innuendos? Russia wondered as he watched them all form a shitty little line, holding onto each other's shoulders for support. Soon after the song change to "Slide It In," they forgot the rest of the lyrics, and nobody else remembered. So they switched again to "Makin' Love".

_Red light, green light, don't say "No"_

_I really want her, she says_

_"Stop, baby" go, go, go_

_I really want her by my side_

_The whole night through_

_We do all the things that we wanna do_

_Well, come on baby, don't leave me sad_

_'Cause you're good lookin', the best I've had_

Well, at least America looked like he was enjoying himself. By the time Lithuania got there and found Russia in the sea of drunk people watching the also-drunk people singing, Russia was sitting on a table. He had gotten slightly bored, so he resorted to recording the performances again.

"Russia-san?" Lithuania asked as he joined Russia in sitting on the table. "Where's America?" Russia, in response, gestured up at the stage.

_Hey, you remember when that girl was prom queen?_

_Take it off! Take it all off!_

_Whooo! Ow! Woo! Aw, yeah!_

_Woo! Woo! Ow! Yeah!_

"What is he doing?" Lithuania asked, laughing when he saw America among the inebriated choir.

"I do believe they are now singing Van Halen's 'Dirty Movies'," Russia told him. "You should have been here earlier; they were making up explicit versions of children's nursery rhymes a few renditions ago."

"Should we get him down from there?" Lithuania asked.

"Yes, I'll go get him." Russia slipped off the table and made his way to the stage. "America-kun," Russia called, trying to catch America's eye.

"Hey Vanya!" America said loudly, breaking off from the group on the stage to walk unsteadily over to Russia. "Wassup?"

_Pour some sugar on me_

_Ooh, in the name of love_

_Pour some sugar on me_

_C'mon fire me up_

_Pour your sugar on me_

_Oh, I can't get enough_

_I'm hot, sticky sweet_

_From my head to my feet yeah_

"Lithuania is here to drive us home," Russia explained, speaking a little louder than usual to be heard over the magnified voices of the choir who were now singing 'Pour Some Sugar On Me'.

"Aw, but Vanya~" America complained, "I wanna stay here..."

"Alfred, it is one in the morning. The bar will be closing soon, anyway. And," he added, "I promise we can come back some other time."

"Really? Promise?" America asked. "Pinky cross heart swear?" Russia had no idea what America was attempting to say, but agreed to that too. "Mm...m'kay, I'll go," America finally said. Russia helped him off the stage, and then had America lean on him to get back to Lithuania, who grinned at the drunk American.

"Good afternoon, Alfred. Russia, I don't think I've ever seen him quite this drunk before, and I've seen him pretty wasted."

"Yeah!" America contributed. "I am so fucking wasted righnow...heh, 's funny..."

"Let's get him home," Lithuania suggested.

On the car ride home, America tried molesting Russia several times. Each time, Russia rejected him, telling him that he was drunk.

"C'mon Vanya," America slurred, "I'm so fucking drunk!"

"Yes Alfred, this is the point," Russia said. America looked confused. Up front, Lithuania was chuckling at the American's antics. Back when he had lived with America, they had gone out drinking every so often, and Lithuania was often the one sober enough to call a taxi. However, America had never tried to come on to anyone when he was drunk before.

At some point, America stopped talking and got rather quiet; Lithuania supposed it was because he was just coming off his extreme alcohol high. Every so often, America would moan in annoyance and pain, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I told you you'd regret the drinking later," Russia scolded, but he really couldn't be angry at America; the poor guy obviously had the worst hangover in his life.

"I...hate...everything," America muttered.

**A/N: What is this I don't even...**

**Sorry for the crack, but I thought this fic needed some. I actually saw this (sort of) once. A table full of drunk guys started singing Avril Lavigne's "Hot", so I remembered that and this happened. **

**I like to think that America is a pervert when drunk. And, when not drunk, is just eager to get into Russia's pants. Apparently, 16 million Americans are sex addicts.  
**

**The next chapter...well, it has yaoi, let's say that :D  
**


	9. The one with the BJ LIME

**A/N: Sweet Jesus on a pogo stick, I'm sorry for this being so danged late! Please forgive me; I put a little something in this chapter that'll hopefully make it better! I've just been having some personal problems lately, and this next chapter might be a little slow coming. ...*immature 'that's what she said' joke***

**In any case, this contains LEMONS! No, not that one, the FOOD lemon. Though there is a lime. Not the food type. **

** :D Enjoy!  
**

_*in the morning...*_

America moaned and opened his eyes. Russia was sitting in a chair in the corner of his room, reading a book. There wasn't a lot of light; the shades were drawn over the windows. America was grateful for that.

"Good morning Alfred," Russia said. America flinched and made a "shh" gesture. Russia smirked.

"I still hate everything," America whispered.

"Come on down to the kitchen, Alfred. I have a hangover cure downstairs," Russia told him.

"Could you bring it up here, please?" America begged. "If I get out of bed I'm a thousand-and-four percent sure I'll die."

"No you won't; just come downstairs whenever you feel like it." Russia smirked again and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

America groaned softly and threw his hand over his eyes. His head was pounding like mad, and he was slightly curious as to what he did last night. After a few more moments of self-pity, he dragged himself downstairs and into the kitchen.

Lithuania shook his head indulgently and couldn't help but smile when he saw the American. Estonia chuckled a bit, and even Latvia's lips twitched when America just kind of slumped in a chair, cradling his head in his hands.

"Mmmnnph."

"Alfred, how much did you have to drink?" Estonia asked.

"Far too much, da, America?" Russia suggested.

"Mm-hm. ...What'd I do last night?" America questioned. Russia took out his cell phone and started to play one of the videos he had taken of America. Said nation picked his head up at the noise, and blinked as he saw precisely what he had done. More specifically, he saw an extremely drunk version of himself dancing across a stage with a couple other hammered guys, singing Avril Lavigne's "Hot". America groaned and put his head back in his arms.

"Alfred, cheer up," Lithuania said. "We both know this isn't the worst thing you've done when you've been drunk."

Russia looked to the Lithuanian curiously. He must remember to ask Toris what other things the American had done in the past while inebriated.

"Mm...guess so," America said slowly. "Doesn't mean it's not stupid."

"Da, Alfred, it was rather stupid," Russia said, "though it was amusing to watch."

"Whatever I did, let me apologize," America said. "I don't remember half of it, but the half I do remember...let's just say I'd rather not."

Russia chuckled. "I don't doubt you would, America."

"Oi, Comrade, did you say you had some sort of magical hangover cure?" America asked. Russia debated protesting the name, but decided against it; it wouldn't do any good with America in this state, anyhow. He could always get him back for it later.

"Da. I'll go get them," Russia said, disappearing into the kitchen.

America started and glared blearily up at the Russian when he set down a tray in front of him with a bang. The American didn't recognize half of the stuff, and didn't want to know what the rest of it was. Russia started pointing to each one in turn.

"This is _nikolashka_," he said. "It is a lemon with a teaspoon of coffee and a teaspoon of sugar."

"What do you do with it?" America asked.

"...Eat it, of course." Russia looked at him like he belonged in a mental asylum. _One to talk_, America thought. "This here is what you might know as Sick Head; it has vegetable oil, an egg, salt, and red and black pepper. Oh, and two tablespoons of vodka."

"I thought the point was to make me less hung over," America commented. "Not get me drunk again."

Russia ignored his complaints and kept going. "Finally, the most common hangover cure in my country. It's called _rassol_."

"...And what exactly is it?" America questioned.

"Pickle brine."

America stared. "So I either have to eat a lemon, an egg-mixture-thing, or pickle brine?" Russia nodded, hiding a smirk. America paused. "Okay, well, there's no way in hell I'm drinking pickle brine, so that's out. And when I was a kid, France dared me to eat a lemon, and I don't think I've been able to taste anything normally since then. Plus, I think that traumatized me for life. I guess I'll go with the egg-thing..."

Russia picked up the glass and set it down in front of America, who reluctantly peered into it. It was a sickly green color, and America wondered where the green came from, since the main ingredient - egg - was yellow...

"I haven't seen any food in a shade that didn't derive from Nature since I lived with England," America muttered. "Meh, at least it isn't moving."

He honestly figured that since it was mainly egg and pepper, it wouldn't taste that bad. After all, he liked omelets back home, and this was like an uncooked omelet, right? Though he was sorely disappointed when he attempted to drink it. He immediately clapped a hand to his mouth in order to stop from gagging, and he could feel his nose burn. Eventually, he was just choking on air and trying to get the abhorrent taste out of his mouth.

"Okay, it's official: that was the worst thing I have ever tasted, ever," America proclaimed. Latvia passed him a cup of clear liquid, which America was happy to find was actual water, and not vodka.

"When's the hangover gonna go away?" America asked. His hatred of everything was only worsened by the so-called hangover cure; all he could taste was raw egg, his nose and throat still burned, and his head pounded.

"Soon, Alfred," Lithuania said. "Go lie down somewhere and go to sleep; it'll feel better when you wake up, probably."

America grumbled something unintelligent and stumbled out of the room. Lithuania looked at Estonia and Latvia, subtly nodding his head back to the door.

"Eh, Russia-san?" Lithuania asked.

"Da, Toris?" Russia didn't seem to have that creepy-ass purple aura around so far, so it was probably okay to ask...

"Could Latvia, Estonia, and I spend the day at Poland's?" Lithuania asked. "He invited me a while ago, and he's been '_dying_' to see Latvia and Estonia."

"Da, of course," Russia said. "Just come back before the snow, da?" Ah, there was the creepy aura they all knew and feared immensely. Lithuania all but dragged Latvia and Estonia behind him as he plowed out the door.

"Lithuania, did Feliks really invite us over?" Estonia asked. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because he didn't," Lithuania answered. "Did you see the aura? You don't want to be around when he has the aura."

"Well, that's simply common knowledge," Estonia reasoned. "I'm just wondering how Poland will react when we randomly show up on his doorstep at nine in the morning."

"He'll throw a little hissy fit, but really enjoy the company," Lithuania said. "I've known him for long enough to know he loves having people over."

"True, and you more than '_know_' him, Toris," Estonia said, smirking.

"You shut up!" he said, blushing. "At least in front of Latvia."

It didn't take long to trudge through the snow to Poland's house, but by the time they arrived, the Baltics were covered in snow and Latvia was shaking even more than usual. Lithuania rammed on the door.

"Feliks!" he called. "Feliks, are you home?"

The door swung open, revealing Poland in all his cross-dressing, plaid-schoolgirl-skirt glory. "Geez Liet, what the hell?" he asked.

"Sorry Feliks, we just needed a place to get away from Russia," Lithuania explained as Poland let them in.

"He got the aura," Estonia helped explain.

Latvia trembled.

Poland sighed dramatically. "Liet, could you, like, warn me before you bring random people over?"

"Of course, Feliks, I will in the future," Lithuania promised. "This was just kind of unexpected."

"You tell me. Well, it, like, doesn't matter right now. Since we're all here, I'll totally get something for us to do!" Poland ran off down the hallway. The Baltics shared another look.

"It better be safer here than at Russia's," Estonia threatened. He wondered whether it would be better to take his chances with Russia when Poland reappeared with a boxful of stuff.

"Feliks...are those poker chips?" Lithuania asked warily.

"Totally! We're going to play strip poker!" Poland announced.

_Yep_, Estonia decided as he tried to think of an excuse to have Latvia not participate, _we definitely should've chanced Russia when we could have..._

America, after being left alone for a very long time, surmised that Russia had gone off to do something else. Like torture something, or sign papers, or whatever; Russia stuff. So, with his hangover ever-so-gradually beginning to dissipate, America logically drew the conclusion that he should do America stuff: like being a hero, making hamburgers, and pissing off England.

When he sat up, though, the blood rushed to his head quickly, making him fall back over onto the bed again. That meant no heroism, no hamburgers, no pissing off England, basically nothing that required being in an upright position for too long. He smirked; there was a good idea. Now where was Russia...?

Deciding that getting up again probably wouldn't work, he began to call Russia's name over and over in the most pathetic voice possible. It reminded him of when he'd gotten sick as a kid, and England had taken care of him. No matter where in the house England had been, whether it was in the room next to him or all the way across the house, America would call for him as obnoxiously as he could until his guardian was actually in the room, earshot be damned.

Eventually, Russia arrived. America ignored the small spatters of crimson on his gloves that most certainly hadn't been there that morning. Perhaps it was that all those horror films that he and Japan had watched had desensitized him. Or maybe it was just that he was so used to seeing Russia with blood on his hands - both literally and figuratively - that it just didn't faze him anymore.

"Da, Amerika?" Russia asked.

"Vanya, the hangover's going away," America said, forcing himself to sit upright, slowly so the blood didn't all rush to his head. Russia smiled his patented Innocent-Serial-Killer smile and sat next to America on the bed. America smiled, too. "Can you think of anything you wanna do...?" America asked, tilting his head to the side. Of course, Russia knew exactly what America was doing, but decided to indulge him, and then some.

He leaned forward to kiss America roughly, twisting his fingers in the American's messy blond hair. Sighing, the other man obliged to Russia's silent request of entrance, parting his lips. While he was wrapping his arms around America's waist, Russia took the opportunity to tilt his head so he could deepen their kiss. When he pulled America closer to his body, the Russian noticed something very intriguing.

"Excited?" he asked vaguely, arching an eyebrow at America. America faintly blushed and looked away, grinning slightly in embarrassment.

"Guess so," he muttered, the flush on his face growing more intense. He knew Russia had felt the slight bulge created in his pants bump against his leg. "It's sorta your fault," America claimed. And it was, in a way; how was he _not_ supposed to get turned on when Russia kissed him like that?

"Is that so? Well then," Russia determined. "I should be the one to rectify that problem." America looked at him with disbelieving eyes; Russia had never before allowed them to do anything at that level. Hell, he had never let them do anything beyond kissing. Granted, it was hot kissing, but the facts still stood.

"Oh really? How are you going to do that?" America asked, slipping an arm around Russia's waist. Wordless answers seemed to be Russia's specialty, as he was completely silent. But inactive he was not; the Russian pulled America's face back to his own, enveloping him in a passionate, slightly wet kiss. Hearing America's wanton moan, Russia smiled in a devilish manner. America was now practically in Russia's lap.

Once again, Russia felt America's clothed arousal brushing his hips and suppressed a violent shudder. He moved a hand from the small of America's back to his crotch, rubbing the hardened length through the American's jeans. America tilted his head back and let out a loud moan. Encouraged, the Russian began to stroke his hand along the bulge, bringing America's head back up to kiss him again. America's breaths became interspersed with moans, soft at first, but growing in volume as Russia stroked harder.

"You like that, da?" Russia asked slightly breathlessly. Unable to speak, America nodded before realizing that he had been pressing his hips forward as hard as he could into Russia's hand. A moan of regret escaped America's throat when he could no longer feel Russia's beautifully sinful hand on him. But where he put it next was much better in America's eyes. Russia slipped his hand past America's belt and began rubbing the hardening length through the thinner fabric of America's boxers. It was rather hard to do, seeing as America was sitting on the edge of the bed, so Russia pulled him into his lap for easier access.

America groaned into Russia's mouth, bucking into that hand that was doing those amazingly sensual things to him, hoping Russia would get the picture and hurry up. But no, Russia seemed perfectly happy to keep going at his agonizingly slow pace, moving his hand around in lazy circles that was turning America on a lot faster. He began bucking harder, but felt Russia's other hand pressing against his hips, stopping him from moving the lower half of his body.

"Calm down," Russia whispered. "If you want something, just ask for it, da?"

For a moment, America thought about how to construct a semi-coherent sentence. On his first few tries, all the sounds he was able to make were a collection of erotic moans.

"God, Ivan...just do something more!" America finally managed, still trying to buck his hips against Russia's tight hold. Russia looked thoughtful, then complied, moving his hand past the waistband of America's boxers. A long moan was ripped from America's throat when Russia's skin met his own, taking hold of his heated member and stroking it slowly. America began trembling slightly and groaned, leaning his head forward to rest on Russia's shoulder.

Russia began to experiment, seeing what would happen if he stroked harder, or if he gripped it tighter and pulled slightly. America's reactions were almost as good as the actions themselves; the younger blond would moan and buck and press harder into Russia's hand. He slung his arms around Russia's neck, pulling him into a hard, desperate kiss. Russia slipped his thumb over the tip of America's length, pressing down lightly. America bucked his hips roughly and moaned at quite an impressive volume.

"Ah! ...Ngh, Vanya...stop teasing," America panted, trying to press as close to Russia as he could. Russia pulled back to look at America, observing his fervor-flushed face; heavy pants escaping parted lips; and half-lidded eyes brimming with pleasure.

"All right, Alfred," Russia agreed. "I will stop teasing you." Living up to his promise, the Russian moved his other hand from America's hair to his waist, using both hands to undo America's belt and pants. America helped him remove the offending articles, kicking them aside. Russia gave a half-nude America one more above-risqué kiss before tossing America on his back on the bed. He climbed over top of him and immediately took America's length into his mouth. The suddenness of Russia's actions elicited a loud, extremely erotic moan from America. He wanted to buck his hips hard into Russia's mouth, wanting to feel that warmth envelop him, but knew that Russia wouldn't find that as hot as he would. So he kept moderately still, twisting his hands in Russia's platinum hair.

At first, Russia took only the tip of America's arousal into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the hot skin playfully. Hearing America's moan, he took in more, little by little. He stroked his tongue along the underside of the fully-hardened member. America groaned louder as Russia began slowly bobbing his head back and forth in a manner much too slow for America's tastes. He arched his back off the wall, once again sending Russia a message that he ignored. Well, mostly ignored. Russia stopped moving his head, and began taking all of America's length into his mouth, relaxing his throat to suppress his gag reflex. America gave a whimper, which was supposed to be some form of sentence, but he was too far gone to do anything else. He could only moan and shudder as Russia moved his sinful tongue along his erection, pinning his hips to the bed. America could feel himself wearing out, and becoming unable to hold back anymore. He needed his release _right motherfucking now_.

Russia smiled and made swallowing motions with his mouth, tightening the muscles in his throat around America's erection. A flash of white masked America's vision as he came, without any warning, into Russia's mouth with his loudest moan yet, which sounded like Russia's name. He was slightly surprised, but Russia swallowed it all, carefully extracting America's member from his mouth. Unable to hold himself up, America flopped back onto the bed again, with Russia sitting just beside him.

America was breathing hard, still riding the high of his release. Russia sat cross-legged, like a kindergartner, smiling in a far too innocent manner for what he had just done.

"Where the hell did you learn to deep-throat?" America asked once he had caught his breath. Russia shrugged.

"Around," he said. "I'm not sure where." Then, for a reason Russia could not fathom, America blushed. It wasn't his after-orgasm flush, but a blush of embarrassment. "Something wrong?" Russia questioned.

"The Baltics could have come back," America muttered. "And I don't doubt they could've heard us. Or, well, me."

"Nyet, Alfred, they have not arrived home yet, most likely," Russia mused. "And they know better than to bring it up, were they to hear anything..."

Something in Russia's tone made America shudder. No matter how good of a blow job the man could give, Russia was still fucking scary. Be it when he was acting like an innocent first-grader, or beating something to death with his pipe. Both were equally creepy in different ways.

"Anything else wrong, Alfred?" Russia asked. It almost sounded like, 'If anything else is wrong, I am going to strangle the first thing I see. Which, most likely, will be you.'

"Well, that and, er..." America trailed off. "You've got some, uh...well...er..." He gestured to Russia, blushing deeper than ever and giving up on his half constructed sentence. Russia had picked up what America was getting at about halfway through the muttering, but had let him continue, simply because it was funny. He also knew that some of America's seed was on his face, but had wanted to see if America would point it out. Russia smiled and licked it off easily. America stared, obviously enjoying the little show.

"Careful, you can't expect this kind of treatment every time you get excited," Russia warned, only half teasing. "Next time, I'll make you take a cold shower." America blushed again and began trying to don his pants again. From then on, the shower ran much more often than usual during America's stay at Russia's house.

**A/N: *hides* Please don't kill me for such a sucky Lime...I have family living in wherever you happen to be at the moment! ...Okay, probably not, but still. I swear all future sexytimes will be much better-written hey, aren't you happy with me? It only took me NINE CHAPTERS to get them to do anything...and let the kinkiness begin! :D So if you could, please just name a random Kink that you think either Russia or America has. You know, like Sex in Public, etc.  
**

**As I said, I'm having some problems at the moment (mainly because of my Sensory Integration Disorder) so I might not update immediately. But just know that in every second I can, I'll be writing the next chapter. Whether it be on this sucktastic computer, or my iTouch, or my writing notebook. **

**And I'm also writing a Switzerland/Japan fic, too, so that'll take some time, too. It's just a PWP one-shot, though; no chapters. And I can never stop myself from writing some Death Note...God, you'll be seeing quite a few PWPs from me soon. :D **

**Anyhow, I'm going to stop talking. Review, subscribe, flame, sacrifice to Joshin, whatever. :)  
**


	10. One of the Only Serious Chapters

**A/N: O_o Wow...this is late as hell. Well, sorry about that, I seem to have lost my muse for this. But I'll keep going, and there'll be a lemon (a real one, not the food this time) somewhere in the future. Be aware though, I'm not incredible at lemons, so it WILL take longer to write and it MIGHT suck badly. **

America sighed, lying haphazardly on his bed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. His hands were tucked behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles - a picture of relaxation. Though the young American was anything but relaxed.

He groped around beside him, hand falling on the bedside table and pulling a small orange bottle from the cabinet. Alfred looked at it, biting his lip and tangling his other hand in his hair.

He couldn't keep doing it.

XXX

_"Here," America's boss said, pushing a small box into his nation's hands. "Take it, use it."_

_"What is it?" America asked, trying to peek into the box, but it was sealed tight. His boss glanced furtively over his shoulder; Ivan and his own boss were standing on the other end of the G8 conference room, not listening to the two Americans._

_"You remember what it is. Just remember not to open it until you're alone," his boss told him. "Keep them out of sight of the Russian."_

_"...Aren't we supposed to be promoting peace? Not secrecy and underhandedness," America reminded. Yes, his boss was higher than him politically and power-wise, but when he failed to see something, it was America's job to point it out. That was, after all, what the United States of America was all about: founded by men who were tired of unjust laws and decided to make their own, replacing a King with democracy. Ultimate power is wielded not by one man, but by a hierarchy of government, and more importantly, the People. If Alfred let his boss have all the power, he'd be undermining everything his country stood for._

_"It's not secrecy, it's for the good of the World," his boss reminded him. "You'll be thanking me and everyone will be thanking you when they're not under total Russian control for eternity."_

_When he put it like that...the entire world under control of that Commie bastard didn't look too great. There was too much blood and...well, creepy-ass shit (in America's words) for him to allow that._

_"Yeah, I guess it's better this way," Alfred said slowly, taking the box and shoving it into one of the massive pockets of his bomber jacket._

XXX

America thought of Russia then, and Russia now. On the plus side, the man wasn't trying to kill everything. True, he was still being morbid every so often, and America had to spend an intricate five minutes leading him the other way from a rabbit that the man seemed to fantasizing about smashing with his pipe. However, there had been little to no casualties. So far.

On the negative side, it just felt wrong. Not only was America supposed to be free, but he was supposed to be honest. It sort of fell under 'justice,' which was in the Pledge of Allegiance. America was about not lying your ass off for your own personal gain. Technically, it was sort of for everyone's gain, but the facts still stood. What America's boss had told him to do may have been for the good of everyone, but it was wrong, morally. Well, even that fell under two groups: it was morally right because it saved a lot of people. It was morally wrong because the whole thing was underhanded.

XXX

_Alfred and Ivan were at the Russian's home, and the American was exploring. Every little room had something else interesting, though America had gotten lost several times. A weird room with old weapons, a creepier one with what looked like centuries-old bloodstains on the walls, the rooms were endless, each more confusing and strange than the last. Ivan had accumulated years and years of things, artifacts from wars and conquests, defeats and victories, and they all bore some semblance of past violence. Now, relieved of their duties, they stood brokenly against the cold stone walls, dusty and untouched._

_Unable to admit to himself that he was lost, Alfred continued to take random turns and peek into doors. Oddly, a few were locked, and he decided that, even though he was massively curious, he didn't want to see what was in those, based on what was in the unlocked rooms. A few more turns, down a metal spiral staircase, and he ended up back on the first floor by the front door._

_A quick glance around confirmed that Ivan was still upstairs, and the Baltics were still somewhere on the second floor. Alfred took the small vial out of his pocket and glanced at the familiar small white capsules inside._

xxx

Not after all that had happened between them. America had never meant to fall in love with the Russian, not in the middle of their political uneasiness. Sure, his people were happy about the renewing about the START treaty, but any business with Russia always put them on edge.

In fact, America had never really meant to fall in love, period. He had always thought of himself as a hero, someone who saved the girl from danger, made out with her, but the story never went beyond that. Maybe it was all the comic books he read, but he'd never thought about his romantic future. To him, it had been simple: the hero saves the girl. Almost nothing he'd read ever mentioned life after making out in the middle of a ravaged, dust- and plaster-covered city, watching admiringly by grateful townspeople.

Hell, he'd never even thought about the gender of whomever he saved. Now that he thought about it, while it was always a girl in the comic books, when he thought about it, the person didn't have a face, or even a gender. He or she was just a gray blur, a foggy hint of a theory of a person. Sure, Alfred liked girls, he'd looked at more than his fair share of porn in his time. However, every so often, he'd caught himself looking at a guy that way. Actually, he remembered having some kind of crush on Japan when he was a colony - the man might be old (allegedly), but he looked in his early twenties.

XXX

_Ivan's long, tan- and blood-red-colored coat hung on an ornate wooden coat rack by the door, along with Alfred's bomber jacket. Alfred knew that in the inside pocket of Ivan's coat, there would be a bottle of vodka, just like there always was. In fact, he'd never been at a G8 meeting when Ivan didn't have the bottle in his coat, for he was always taking it out to drink from it, though he never got drunk. Then again, a drunk Russia probably couldn't be much worse than a sober Russia - they were both still insane._

_After another furtive sweep of the room, Alfred shook out two of the small pills into his palm, and carefully dropped them into the bottle of vodka, where they made a delicate sound as they hit the surface._

_Plink._

_Plink._

_He watched as they dissolved, slowly at first, like two little circles flying to the bottom, milky specks and streams swirling after them. When they hit the bottom of the bottle, the gray-white substance around it mushroomed across the lower half of the bottle, and Alfred quickly recapped it and shook it up, dispersing the medication. Quickly, he stowed it back into Ivan's coat and left the living room._

_Back on the second floor, Alfred ran into Ivan, who was hefting his pipe over his shoulder._

_"Ah, Amerika," Ivan said. "I thought you had gotten lost."_

_"Just a bit, but I got it," Alfred assured him, grinning._

XXX

Alfred groped around under the bed and grasped the handle of his suitcase. Sifting through clothes, sugary snacks he'd brought in case the food in Russia sucked, and his choicest comic books and magazines - one featuring a quiz, 'How girly are you from 1 to Justin Bieber' - he found the box his boss had given him. Its cardboard top still had the silver duct tape across it, marred only by the rip in it made by America's keys when he opened it once he'd settled in.

Inside the box sat even more orange-tinted plastic bottles, each one filled with those little white antipsychotics. Disgusted, he tossed the three-fourths-empty bottle he had been holding back into the box with its full counterparts. Snatching a piece of paper, he scribbled something on it, hastily folded it and dropped it into the box, and taped it shut again; he'd ask Russia to get him somewhere to mail it later.

_Boss,_

_Find someone else._

_I'm not doing it anymore._

_Find someone else to de-crazify Ivan.  
_

_Adios,_

_America, bitches._

**A/N: Well, this chapter is WAY shorter than normal. Huh. Well, the next one'll be better, I promise. But just FYI, I'm really, really busy this year, and I'm trying to take a class to be eligible to volunteer at a hospice, so yeah, I'm busy like YOUR MOM. ...Wow, I haven't been that immature since freshman year of high school. XD **

**In any case, the end of this chapter. ^^ Reviews would be lovely.  
**


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